Happy New Year
by Klyntaliah
Summary: Ever since they broke up, Clint has had this fantasy of getting back together with Natasha on New Year's. Clintasha oneshot, T for mild language & adult themes. "It seems too fairytale-ish to have things work out this well and then actually be able to kiss her at midnight."


**Hey guys!**

 **I started writing this story on New Year's Eve. My intention was to post on New Year's Day, but as you can see, the writing/transferring/editing process ended up taking a heck of a lot longer than I'd anticipated. So this New Year's story is a couple months late, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! :) Maybe it's kind of cliche, but oh well. x)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"HAPPY NEW YEAR, SUCKERS!"

The cluster of brightly attired partygoers erupts in shrieks and whoops of applause as Tony Stark upends his tenth consecutive shot of tequila. He draws the back of his wrist across his mouth and shatters the tumbler on the floor.

"Pay up, gentlemen!" he crows over the deafening roar of the music. Wallets and billfolds emerge as skimpily clad bodies convulse on the dance floor behind them; writhing, freestyling, grinding to the beat. Colorful, kaleidoscopic lights flash on the scattered horde of exhilarated people, who are taking advantage of the buffet tables and open bar. A clique of giggling females gossip and sip martinis around an exclusive table. An inebriated couple is passionately making out in a dark corner. A tipsy Pepper Potts titters and pecks Tony on the cheek. A florid-faced man in oxfords and a top hat starts passing out expired lottery tickets. Thor runs by, looking for his pants.

Classic Stark party.

Clint Barton sits alone on the iron staircase that leads to the loft. He is decked out in a stiff tuxedo, doubly uncomfortable due to the room's stifling heat. His eyes are flitting absently over the frenzied mass as his seat vibrates from the heavy thump of the bass.

He raises a dwindling bottle of beer to his lips and takes a pull. Normally, he would be participating more actively in the festivities, but tonight, he is brooding. His gaze locks onto a redhead who is chatting and laughing with a handful of guests. He sighs.

A sloshed Tony Stark staggers to the staircase and begins dragging himself up, leaning heavily on the banister. Three teetering steps up, his twitchy eyes land on Clint, and he beams ignorantly.

"Hey, Featherhead!" he bellows. "Whatcha doin'?"

He manages the remaining four steps to where Clint is sitting and collapses on the stair beside him. His hair and clothing are mussed, he reeks of alcohol, and Pepper's lipstick smudges his face.

"Some party, huh?" he hollers above the music.

Clint taps his fingers against his slim, brown bottle.

"Yeah," he calls back. "Some party."

A leggy blonde in stilettos steps between them on her way downstairs. Tony unabashedly watches her go.

"Wanna dance?" he asks Clint, spittle spraying from his lips.

Clint smiles slightly.

"I'm flattered, Stark, but no thanks."

"You look a little down in the mouth, Birdbrain," Tony drawls. "What's eating you?"

Clint hesitates. Until he remembers that, after ten successive shots, it is physically impossible for Tony to remember this later. He takes a deep breath.

"Have you ever… wanted to be with someone, but you couldn't?" he asks tentatively.

Tony considers this a moment.

"No," he declares finally.

Clint sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Of course _you_ wouldn't."

"Who do you want to be with but can't?" Tony garbles.

"No one." Clint lowers his head.

Tony elbows him in the ribs. "C'mon, Barton, you must've meant someone!"

Clint shakes his head. "Naw, forget it, forget I said anything."

"I will," Tony points out. Again Clint hesitates.

Tony claps him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Cupid. Between two friends."

Clint pauses. Then he lifts his head and looks to where two women are conversing by the buffet tables.

Tony follows his gaze.

"Wait a minute!" he squawks. "Are you talking about Natasha?"

Clint takes another swig of beer. The rhythmic kick of the subwoofers creates intense ellipsis points.

"Are you still hung up on her? You guys haven't dated in years!"

"Months," Clint corrects. "It's been nine and a half months."

"Yeah…" Tony squints. "Why'd you two break up, anyway?"

Clint shrugs, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. "I dunno. We had a stupid fight… I don't even remember." He sighs. "I'm gonna level with you, Stark. Ever since we broke up, I've had this fantasy of getting back together with her on New Year's. You know, make up, kiss at midnight, the whole deal." From somewhere across the room comes the tinkle of breaking glass. "But now I know that's not gonna happen, so." He takes a drag at his beer bottle.

"Why not?" Tony queries.

Clint stares at him. "Because she's seeing someone else?"

"She is?" Tony looks shocked.

"Uh…" Clint nods. "Yeah. Russel Benton? Tall, dark hair? Been seeing him for six months?"

Tony gazes off into space. "Oh, yeah…"

The DJ's echo-y voice over the loudspeaker announces that there are "fifteen minutes till the new year, baby!" Tony sighs.

"Well, you want my advice?" he slurs.

Clint looks at him. His collar is flipped up, his eyes are crossing, and his hair is pointing in directions Clint didn't know existed.

Clint smiles.

"Was just about to ask for it."

"Just do it," Tony grunts. "It's New Year's Eve, for god's sake; a boy should be able to kiss a girl he likes on New Year's Eve." He sniggers. "And her boyfriend ain't even _here."_

Clint chuckles and nods as Tony guffaws. "Thanks, Tony. I'll bear that in mind."

"Glad to help," Tony wheezes, heaving himself to his feet. "If you ever need advice… or wisdom…" He breaks into a fit of coughing. "Hey, do you know where the bathroom is?"

Clint points him in the right direction, and Tony stumbles off.

Clint throws his head back and drains the remaining contents of his beer bottle. He contemplatively eyes the bottle, drumming at it with his fingertips, then swallows the beverage and stands, starting towards the bar.

He maneuvers across the crowded floor; edging behind boisterous groups, ducking under gesturing arms, weaving between exuberant dancers. Eventually, he reaches the bar and leans his elbows across the counter.

"Hey, uh… could I get another beer, please?"

"…sure thing."

He rubs his palms together and glances up at the ceiling.

"A scotch on the rocks." A familiar voice makes his heart jolt. He turns, and forgets to breathe for a second.

She looked beautiful from across the room, but close up, she is breathtaking. She is wearing a pink, patterned halter-top with no back and a low-cut neckline. Her white, ruffled skirt just hits her knees, and her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. The look is completed by high-heeled sandals and crystal drop earrings.

"Hey," Clint calls with a nod, resting his left arm on the counter.

Her eyes fall on him, and a smile claims her lips. "Hey," she returns, approaching him.

Clint straightens and makes a show of inspecting her outfit as she comes to a stop in front of him. "You know this is December, and not July, right?" he teases, grinning.

She rolls her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Laugh all you want. I knew it'd be _stifling_ in here, so I came prepared. Unlike you."

"You're right, I should've gone with the Speedo," Clint quips.

She snorts. "Wise-ass."

The bartender clinks a new beer onto the counter.

Natasha tilts her head and steps impossibly closer. "Where've you been, I haven't seen you all night."

"Yeah." Clint clears his throat. "Me neither." He tries to look as though he hasn't been staring at her all evening.

Natasha's eyes flick down to his crisp tuxedo, and her smile widens. "You look good," she comments, smoothing his lapels with her palms.

Clint ventures to slip his arms around her middle. "You think so?" he says archly.

"Mhm," she hums, adjusting his bowtie.

The bartender slides a scotch across the counter.

Natasha turns her head. "Oh, thank you." She takes a step back and reaches for the drink. Clint lets one hand linger on her waist as she raises it to her lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks at length.

"Are you?" she returns, balancing the cup in one hand. Ice cubes tinkle musically against the sides.

Clint nods. "Yeah."

The DJ makes an announcement into the microphone, but Clint doesn't register the words.

"You know…" Natasha lifts an eyebrow. "You still haven't answered my first question."

"Your first question," Clint repeats slowly. He locks his hands at her lower back and raises his eyes thoughtfully to the ceiling, then shakes his head. "Nope, you didn't ask me anything else."

"Uh, yeah, I did."

"No, you really didn't."

"Pretty sure I did."

"Wanna bet?" Clint challenges.

Natasha's eyes widen innocently and she sets her drink down, settling her palms on his chest. "Try me."

Clint finally chuckles and shakes his head, tightening his arms around her. "I really don't remember the question, Tash. Why don't you remind me."

Natasha raises her eyebrows. "You'd like that, would you?"

"I don't know, let's find out," Clint teases back without missing a beat.

She narrows her eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

Clint quirks an eyebrow. "What do _you_ think?"

He doesn't even know what they're talking about anymore. All he knows is that she's giving him that roguish smirk of hers, her mesmeric eyes flickering back and forth between each of his; and their faces are so close that he can feel her warm breath on his lips…

A phone jingles shrilly. Natasha swears and jerks the device from her pocket. The name "Russel" is on the screen. Clint takes a step back, his hands drifting to his sides.

"I'm sorry, I gotta take this," Natasha says. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" She touches his shoulder and lifts the phone to her ear.

"Where the hell are you?" Clint hears her demand as she walks away.

Clint screws open his fresh beer and takes a swallow. He leans back against the counter and lets his gaze crawl vacantly across the feverish party.

"Barton," says a voice on his right.

Clint turns. Steve is looming over him with his arms crossed, a hint of disapproval in his features.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." Clint sets down his beer and straightens to his full height, adjusting his jacket. "What's going on?"

Steve glances up and lowers his voice as an intoxicated man stumbles past. "Look, I know this is none of my business… but I couldn't help noticing what just happened between you and Natasha."

"Nothing happened," Clint replies quickly. "We were just chatting."

Steve raises his eyebrows. Across the room, a group explodes in noisy laughter.

"So you're saying _nothing_ would have happened if you hadn't been interrupted."

 _Good point,_ Clint thinks.

"What's your point?" is what he asks, shifting his posture impatiently.

Steve lowers his head docilely. "I don't mean any offense. I just thought you needed a reminder that _she…_ has a boyfriend."

"Yeah, I know," Clint answers, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Steve shakes his head. "Didn't look that way."

"Okay, so we were flirting a little," Clint allows. He shrugs. "So what? I'm probably not the only guy she's flirted with tonight." His stomach constricts a little at the thought, but he keeps his face neutral.

Steve nods. "Right, but, this is different."

"Why? Because we used to date, like, a year ago?" Clint challenges.

"No. Because you still have feelings for each other," Steve says bluntly.

Clint blinks. "What?"

"I know it's hard to accept," Steve continues, "but—"

"Alright, hang on." Clint holds up a hand, brow furrowed. "You think Nat still has feelings for me?"

Steve shakes his head. "No, I don't think Nat still has feelings for you. I _know_ she does."

Clint's heartbeat accelerates. "Wha- but how can she? She's dating Russel!"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Barton, she's only dating him because she's trying to get over you. I thought you knew that."

Stunned, Clint lowers himself into a barstool. "How do you know?" he manages to ask.

"It's obvious," Steve responds. "For a guy who knows her as well as you do, you sure do miss a lot." He exhales. "Look, what you and Natasha had was special. I mean, sure, she and Russel get along, but there's nothing deeper there; there's no strong connection like what the two of you had. And will probably always have." There's a clinking as several wineglasses are set onto the counter nearby. "You can't get over a relationship like that so quickly. Take it from someone who knows."

A woman steps up to the bar and orders vodka. Slowly, Clint stands again.

"Well, if that's true… then, why _shouldn't_ anything happen between us?"

"Well, I'm not saying nothing can _ever_ happen between you," Steve explains. "But, as of tonight, she has a boyfriend. Okay? And you just _can't_ make a move on a girl who has a boyfriend. _Especially_ if you're her ex."

Clint sighs. "You're right, I just – I didn't realize she still feels that way about me."

"But you'll stay away from her," Steve persists. Then his eyes focus on something over Clint's shoulder.

Clint turns to see Natasha stalking towards them, glowering darkly into space. She reaches them, mounts a barstool, and begins downing her scotch.

Steve gives Clint one last meaningful glance, then wanders off.

Clint slides into the barstool next to Natasha. "Everything okay?"

She claps her glass onto the counter. "Russel and I just had a fight."

Clint watches her thoughtfully as she scowls into her drink, swirling the melting ice with a fingertip.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he suggests.

Natasha inhales slowly, holding her tumbler loosely between her fingers. "I just – I was upset because he said he'd be here tonight and he's not. He's at some upper-crust blowout right around the corner. And I just don't see why he can't swing by; I mean, it's so close and he did say he'd– Do you really wanna hear about all this?" she interrupts herself, regarding him with a rueful smile.

"Yes," Clint replies simply. "If it makes you feel better, I'm all ears."

Natasha smiles and drops her eyes again. "Anyway. That's about all, I guess… We were both just yelling, like we always do…" She sighs; tilts her head away from him, and Clint is briefly distracted by the graceful curve of her neck. "You know…" Her voice drops to an undertone, and Clint has to lean closer to catch the words. "Sometimes I wonder if… we're just putting too much effort into this. You know? I mean, maybe enough is enough; maybe we should just call it a day."

Clint blinks. "You mean… split up with him?"

Natasha lifts her head. "You think that's a good idea?"

Clint hesitates. "I'm… not sure I'm the person you should be asking for advice about this."

 _"I_ am," Natasha says unaffectedly. Her mouth twitches slightly to one side, her eyes catching the sparkling light. "I trust you."

Clint remains silent. On the one hand, he would love nothing more than for Natasha and Russel to split up. And this is the perfect opportunity for him to arrange that.

But on the other hand… he can't urge her to dump him with a clear conscience. Whether or not it would be good advice, he would be giving it for selfish reasons; there's no way around that. She's asking him for sincere advice, from friend to friend, and suggesting what he _wants_ to suggest would be dishonest, a breach of trust.

"You know what?" Clint says, lowering his voice below the music and tangled chatter. "I think you should stick with it."

"Really?"

"Really," Clint affirms. "It's kind of a given that there'll be rough patches in a relationship, but you shouldn't give up because of them."

Natasha lowers her head. "I know everything can't be _perfect_ , I just… I think we disagree _too_ often," she admits, fidgeting with her twinkling rings.

Clint pauses. "Well… breaking up probably seems like the easiest answer, but I think things'll get better if you keep working at it." He takes a deep breath. "And… it's never a good idea to break up because of a fight."

Natasha stops fidgeting. He has her attention now, though she doesn't meet his eyes. He knows they're both thinking about their own breakup, which originated from an argument.

Clint thinks carefully about his phrasing before speaking. "During a fight… people say things they don't mean, and make bad decisions. And I think when someone breaks up because of a fight, it's more because they're angry than because it was a good choice, and they end up regretting it."

Natasha doesn't move. He can tell she is listening closely, straining to block out all other noises in the room and focus on his words.

Clint sighs. "I mean, I'm not saying everything's gonna be perfect from here on out. But isn't it better to take that chance, than to end things and wind up wishing you hadn't?"

Natasha doesn't respond for a minute. Clint studies her pensively, taking a gulp of beer as he waits.

At last, she looks up. "Thanks," she says quietly; and he nods.

Their eyes are locked, and there's a moment of mutual understanding that passes between them. They both know that, although they were discussing Natasha's relationship, their words apply to their former one as well.

The repetitive thud dies without warning as the music is halted. The buzz of the chattering crowd reaches a crescendo.

There's a short belch of static, then the DJ's voice echoes through the microphone.

"Alright, ladiesandgentlemen!" he bellows. "Just five minutes to the new year! Are you ready for this?" The scattered mass screams an unintelligible reply.

"Alright!" The DJ cheers. "Okay, next up, we have a request, this is for Gabby from Drew, to welcome in the New Year, here's Margaret Whiting's 'What are you Doing New Year's Eve'!"

The slow fifties piece starts to play, standing in stark contrast to the upbeat music from before. Couples start to form on the dance floor, swaying to the jazzy tune.

Clint looks back at Natasha. She's sitting quietly, her eyes flickering back and forth across the dance floor.

Clint stands, adjusting his jacket, and Natasha's gaze lands on him.

"So, Romanoff," he says. He extends his hand. "Wanna dance?'

Natasha's lips curve into a smile. She takes his hand and slides off the barstool.

"Why not, Barton."

Clint grins and starts pulling her towards the dance floor.

They weave between groups of conversing people, whose ecstatic anticipation has mellowed into something a bit more controlled, mirroring the music. Finally, they're surrounded by swaying, spinning couples. Clint puts his free hand on Natasha's back, pulling her close, and she sets her hand at the back of his neck.

"Feeling better about Russel yet?" Clint asks as they begin to dance.

Natasha grimaces. "Let's not talk about Russel."

Clint privately agrees. "What do you want to talk about?"

Natasha's thumb slides up to his hairline, and she tilts her head. "Do we have to talk about something?" Her crystal earrings tremble and glitter in the light.

Clint arches his eyebrows. "Your call," he answers, and Natasha smiles. Her arm slips further around his shoulders, and she rests her head on his collarbone.

Much as he enjoys their conversations, Clint is grateful for the silence in this case. There is a lot he needs to puzzle through before midnight. He absentmindedly hums along with the music as he brushes his thumb across Natasha's knuckles, and he feels her sigh.

Things are going even better than he had envisioned. They've been spending time together, they were able to talk through their breakup and dismiss any remaining tension, and now he's holding her in his arms as the time ticks closer to midnight. It's going almost _suspiciously_ well, like Fate is trying to lull him into a false sense of security, and then something will go wrong at the last possible second. It seems to fairytale-ish to have things work out this well and then _actually_ be able to kiss her at midnight. It's just too unrealistic.

But the _real_ question is, if everything _does_ somehow magically fall into place, _should_ he kiss her? Although he might not even get the chance to, he feels like he still should decide whether or not it would even be _right_. Normally, he probably wouldn't have given it as much thought, but after his conversation with Steve, he feels like he can't do anything without thinking it through.

 _"You just_ can't _make a move on a girl who has a boyfriend. Especially if you're her ex,"_ Steve had said. _"You'll stay away from her."_ But would kissing her at midnight on New Year's _technically_ be "making a move" on her? Lots of people did it, after all.

 _"Right, but, this is different. You still have feelings for each other,"_ Steve had told him. Clint set his jaw. _Why do you always have to be so damn right, Rogers?_

And all that aside, she just went through a fight with her boyfriend, five, maybe ten minutes before. She seems better now, but surely she's still experiencing negative feelings about it. After something like that, wouldn't it be selfish to kiss her? Doing so would give her even more turbulent emotions on top of the others, especially if she still cares about him like Steve insists she does. And it could also bring back intense and possibly painful memories of their time as a couple. Would that be too selfish? Was it too early? Or even too late?

 _You know what?_ Clint interrupts himself. _Screw it. I'm overthinking this. It's just a kiss, it doesn't have to mean anything. So maybe it's too soon and maybe I'll regret it, but I'd rather regret_ doing _it than regret_ not _doing it. It's New Year's Eve, for crying out loud! I'm gonna go for it._

"One minute till the New Year!" the DJ hollers. "We almost ready for the countdown?"

The crowd whoops and screeches in reply. Their excitement is climbing to new heights, and the expectant energy in the room is almost palpable.

Yet somehow, Clint manages to stay somewhat detached from it all. While his anticipation and heartrate are rising as he awaits the kiss that it's starting to look like _might_ just happen, he also feels a strange sense of calm. He's right where he wants to be, and he has set his mind on what he's about to do.

Natasha's hand slides back down to his shoulder, and she burrows her face into the crook of his neck. Clint feels her exhale against his skin, and he takes a deep breath.

A distant voice floats through the crowd. _"Natasha!"_

Natasha stiffens and pushes off of Clint. _"Russel?"_ she exclaims, and Clint's heart sinks as she whirls. There's a second where he reflexively squeezes her fingers, then he forces himself to let go. Here it is, the moment when everything will go wrong.

Russel stumbles into view. His hair is windswept, his collar is flipped up, and he's panting hard.

"Russel!" Natasha hurries up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Natasha," he wheezes. "I'm so sorry! I realized I had made a mistake the second I hung up, and I had to tell you in person! I got here as fast as I could. I promised I would be here for you, and I should've kept my word, I know that now. But I'm here now. Will you forgive me?"

Natasha seems too shocked to answer.

"…four, three, two, one!" the crowd chants, and the room erupts with deafening cheers.

Russel takes Natasha's face in his hands and kisses her on the lips.

Something hits Clint's chest with an almost physical force, knocking the wind out of him. He turns and starts moving recklessly through the crowd.

His mind is racing so quickly that it drowns out the thundering noise, reducing it to little more than a muted roar on his consciousness. Brightly colored clothes swirl around him, people dancing and celebrating. Shiny confetti spirals to the floor, and the bass kicks in again. Someone's elbow collides with his stomach, and he grunts. He has to get out of here.

He spies a door some distance ahead, and the next thing he knows, his hand is twisting the knob, and cold air is sucking him though. The door slams.

He's standing on a quiet, frigid balcony. The city lights roll out below him, like a tangled constellation of brilliant stars. Chilly breezes tug at him, and swirl the sparse snowflakes, a travesty of the festive confetti.

Clint strides forward and kicks accusingly at the railing. He collapses against the barrier, raking a hand through his hair.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

A firework screams up to the sky and bursts into a bloom of shimmering fireflies. Clint raises his head as several more follow its example.

 _Happy New Year,_ he thinks bitterly.

He unravels his restricting bowtie and frees the first few buttons of his shirt, allowing himself to breathe. His mind has stopped racing now, and while he's still agitated, he's able to form coherent thoughts.

 _That was a stupid, stupid move. I shouldn't have tried to kiss a girl who has a boyfriend, Steve was right. I'm such an idiot, how do I get myself into these things…_

He continues to lean against the handrail for a long time, watching the fireworks as his anger fades to bitterness, then to disappointment.

He's not sure how much time passes. It's enough that he's barely aware of the cold anymore when the door opens.

A box of golden light falls on him, and the loud noise of the party escapes before the door shuts again, dipping the balcony back into darkness and silence. He hears footsteps, and someone leans onto the railing on his right. He doesn't need the red hair in his peripheral vision to know who it is.

"I've been looking for you," she says.

Clint rests his elbows on the rail and loosely clasps his hands over the edge. "Well… you found me," he comments. It's a cliché response, but he doesn't know what else to say. It's an awkward situation, considering how things stand between them. He wonders why she even came out here in the first place.

There's a silence, stiff with tension. He's considering voicing his question when she speaks.

"I broke up with Russel."

Clint stops short, his heart jolting. Natasha's words freeze in the chill air and hang between them.

Clint feels Natasha looking at him, but he doesn't look back. Finally, he remembers his voice.

"Why?"

Natasha exhales and turns, leaning her back against the banister for a better view of his face. "When we were talking about it at the bar… and I was thinking about breaking up with him… I realized how right it was. How… relieved I felt when I imagined it. I didn't even realize we needed to split up until we did. And it's not because Russel's not a nice guy. Because he is. We're just not right for each other, I guess…" Natasha's words fade into a shiver. Clint finally looks at her. Her eyes are fixed on him, and her arms are crossed tightly to combat the chills that are provoked by her bare back and limbs.

"Here," Clint murmurs, starting to unbutton his jacket.

"Oh, I don't want to take your jacket," Natasha says hesitantly, and Clint pauses. Then he opens his jacket towards her.

She halts, smiles slightly, then steps up to him, and he holds the jacket closed behind her, allowing them to share the warmth. He only does it because he doesn't think she would've agreed to take the jacket away from him, and because he needs to stay warm, too. Or so he tells himself.

"Are you sure?" Clint asks aloud.

She lifts her eyes to his and nods. "I talked about it with Russel, and he agreed with me. Apparently it was more guilt than love that made him decide to come tonight." She drops her eyes again, fiddling with his cotton shirt. "Besides, he was being so faithful and putting so much into our relationship, and I realized it wasn't fair to let him keep doing that when I still have feelings for you."

Shock paralyzes Clint, and he stops breathing as he stares into Natasha's eyes, which are anxiously searching his. Then, undiluted happiness washes through him, and he's left thrilled and amazed as he tries to respond.

"Oh" is what finally leaves his mouth.

Amusement shows around Natasha's eyes, paired with a touch of frustration. _"'Oh'?_ Really? I spill my guts to you, and your response is a single syllable that _Scrabble_ doesn't even recognize as—"

Clint silences her with his lips.

Kissing her is not just like he remembered – it's _better_ than he remembered. Her lips are soft and supple, and they move against his with impassioned dexterity that makes his head swim. Her hands slide up and lock behind his neck, and one of his moves up her back while the other arm circles her waist. Another bout of fireworks screams up to the sky, illuminating the snow that swirls around them.

At last, Natasha breaks away. In spite of the cold air, her face is flushed with warmth and her hazel eyes are glowing. Her hands grip the sides of his face as she gazes urgently into his eyes.

"If we're doing this again, I want to do it right," she gasps. "No more stupid fights, no more pointless breakups. I don't think I can go through that again, I don't think I can handle not being with you again."

Clint pulls her in for a hug, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He smiles blissfully as he watches another firework blossom in the sky, arms clasped snugly around the woman he loves.

"Let's make it a New Year's resolution."


End file.
